


Semiprofessional Rivalry

by procrastinationfairy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, college professor au, mentions of zimbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinationfairy/pseuds/procrastinationfairy
Summary: Dr. Kent Parson is an accounting professor at the University of Summerlin and former professional hockey player. Dr. Alexei Mashkov is a professor of Russian language and culture. Dr. Mashkov doesn't like Dr. Parson, but they've never really had to interact--until the Juno Building is closed for the semester, and Dr. Mashkov's new office is next door to the one professor he truly despises.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Semiprofessional Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even begin to emphasize how quickly-written and unedited this piece is. I'm in grad school and super busy, and my writing time is very limited. I still wanted to upload this because I joked about this with a friend, and now it's been thrust into the world.
> 
> This came about because of this tumblr post:  
> https://voidbat.tumblr.com/post/131456576482/in-a-stroke-of-art-my-ap-chemistry-teacher
> 
> And the subsequent message I sent to my friend: patater college professor au. kent is an accounting professor who does this. tater is the russian language teacher who has a semi-professional rivalry with him. (why semi-professional? well, they don't really work together sooo WHY ARE THEY FIGHTING)
> 
> There is probably some butchering of the academia field because I don't know how it works, and that goes the same for business. The incidents in this story are almost all based off real incidents from my college career.

Dr. Kent Parson was, for all intents and purposes, a strange man. A former professional hockey player, he decided to get a degree in accounting in his downtime. (“I wanted to do my own taxes,” he always told his classes, which baffled the non-majors, as most people never wanted to do taxes at all, much less their own.) After that, getting an MBA seemed like a logical next step. When he retired from hockey at 38, he decided to delve into academia again. Now, at 45, he was a bit of a novelty for the university, though an adequate instructor. Of course, some of the more traditional staff found him rather irritating, especially with the way he regarded accounting as a hobby rather than a way of life, but the students found him entertaining. He maintained a solid reputation in the Department of Business at the University of Summerlin - Nevada.

For that reason, most of the university faculty ignored him. If he stayed out of their way, no one particularly cared. In fact, one of the few with a grievance was not from his department at all. Dr. Alexei Mashkov, the Russian language teacher in the Department of Global Languages and Cultures, had never liked Kent Parson, not when he turned up on campus for funsies nor when he took the assistant professor because he could. This was kept quiet for most of their tenure—how often would they interact, after all? 

But one fall semester, the Juno Building was shut down: The staircase had pulled away from the wall, and ceiling tiles were falling in the hallways. “Think maybe is asbestos too,” Dr. Mashkov lamented to his dear friends, two married history professors who always brought good food to the offices in the Juno Building. He would miss their treats while they taught at Nakamura Building. Damn English professors were lucky. Meanwhile, Dr. Mashkov and his fellow language professors were shunted off to the far side of campus with the darkest group of them all: the business department. 

Most of the business professors were old fuddy-duddies, but Dr. Mashkov could handle them. He was used to men whose minds were dustier than the books they read. The real issue was Dr. Parson, and his incredibly raucous classes.

“If you ever have trouble adding, just get a cat and put it on your keyboard,” Dr. Parson shouted. “You’ll figure out what went wrong as soon as you can’t type.” On cue, the sound of a wailing cat echoed into the hallway.

Dr. Mashkov’s students could hardly conjugate with that sort of noise.

To make matters worse, they placed his office directly next to Dr. Parson’s. Infuriatingly, he was quiet in his office, door always shut, working quickly and quietly. His office hours were apparently not to the benefit of students: He left at 3:00 most days, and Dr. Mashkov had a chart of how many students stuck their head in his door, saying, “Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Parson went?”

Only ten weeks to go. 

* * *

The question of whether Dr. Parson’s classes were wild because of the class or the professor was a matter of chicken or egg. Dr. Parson was a strange man, to be sure, but his students often chose his classes in the hopes that they’d have another strange story to carry along.

(“A lot of you asked for the raw data. Here,” he emailed one 300-level class working on a large project, along with a picture of a sleek black cat poised on a chair ever so gracefully.)

Dr. Mashkov wasn’t jealous of his reputation. He didn’t want to be the eccentric professor. (He’d tried that once. Showing Godzilla to his students in Russian had been entertaining, but the rented Godzilla suit to go along with it was far too hot to wear in the desert. Besides, the swishing sound the fabric made as he walked was more irritating than teaching a class to the four students who showed up.) Still, it was certainly interesting to see students clamoring to get into his 400-level classes while Dr. Mashkov had to spend hours assuring students a double major in Russian was perfectly doable and he would love to have a full roster for his higher level classes. What about Dr. Parson and his ear-splitting lessons could be so intriguing?

Dr. Parson didn’t leave at 3:00 one day. As he shut his office door, he turned and dipped his head into Dr. Mashkov’s office.

“Hey,” he said, nodding like he was still a twenty-something hockey player on the cover of every magazine. Sure, he looked like he could still show off his perfect looks, with the stupid blond hair that was barely graying and almost unwrinkled face. “Dr. Mashkov, right?”

“Yes,” Dr. Mashkov replied, tapping on his keyboard as quickly as he could in the hopes that the tapping would repel unwanted pests.

“Do you have a class on Wednesdays at 1:00?” Dr. Parson asked.

Dr. Mashkov stopped. “Why?” he asked. 

“I’ve got a lot of kids going into business, but they need something to fill their hours while they’re waiting for major classes,” Dr. Parson explained. “I figured they might as well do something useful in their free time. Foreign languages are good for business majors. You want to give them a little chat? Drum up some business?”

Dr. Mashkov had no idea how to react to that. “Language is not free time. Is much work,” he said. “My students spend much time working and learning. If they not willing to put in time, they not do well with major. Is not extra.”

Dr. Parson blinked, as if he didn’t understand. “Yeah, cool. So would you come by?”

Dr. Mashkov wanted to say no. He didn’t have a class, and he didn’t have office hours. He would use the time to get his grading done. But Dr. Parson blinked those infuriatingly lovely gray eyes, and Dr. Mashkov said, “Okay.”

With a bright smile, the kind that gleams on television, Dr. Parson said, “Great. I’ll send you the deets. See you later.” He left without another word, like everything in the world came easy to him.

That ass probably did too. Dr. Mashkov really hated him.


End file.
